Glass
by Eveilae
Summary: Was Cinderella as good as she was made out to be? Was her family as bad? Yeah, probably, but HEY, they're only human.
1. Prolouge

**Prologue **

I will tell you a tale now, of a family of three, torn apart by jealousy and greed. It's a tale of three sisters, and it's a story about love.

It begins with two sisters, one by the name of Viviann and another by the name of Danielle. They live with their mother, Lady Belinda of Tuzalor. Their lives are as normal as the lives of any of the other ladies of Tuzalor. That is, until James McGee comes into their lives, with his magic and his daughter.

Lady Belinda, a widow for years, thinks she has found love at last. The wedding is a glorious day for her. Anyone who is anyone comes to the gala event, and Lady Belinda finds herself getting complimented by even the Queen. Belinda has never shunned the great crowds or a mass of people surrounding her, and this is no exception.

She pays no mind to her two daughters. One is sitting on the sideline, staring up at the new stepfamily through the gaps in her hair, and the other skipping around with the other rich children, exchanging rumors and childish opinions.

James's daughter, Cindy, finds herself suddenly surrounded by people of high class, and like her stepmother, she is not aversive to this. Her father has raised her ever since her mother died of a terrible wasting disease, and this solitude had never been to her liking. Perhaps the life of a hermit was enough to satisfy her father, but not her. She was at last getting her due.

But James, being no ordinary man, realized he had to save his daughter, even if it meant shaming himself and the morals he had once held close. So he did it, he shamed his craft and all he had once stood for and put love into the poor Lady Belinda's heart in the form of a glass rose.

He did not think of the consequences if the spell were ever to break.


	2. we're all made of cheese, you know

Home is much as it ever was. Danielle and my mother both trying to make Cinders as miserable as they can, and her getting back at them-us, actually- in any way she can. But I cannot stop thinking about how I left things with Trent the night before. Those next few days I seem to pause and wonder if I should go visit him every few hours. My mother snaps at me several times when I sit there with my meager embroidery in my lap, just staring off into space.

Maybe that is why it takes me longer than usual to notice the extra activity in the house. At first I wondered if it is just I, if I am moving too slowly, because everyone is buzzing around like bees. But after overhearing several female serfs comparing gossip, I get the picture. Cinders has finally been called by Society to join. Seeing as how she is a year my elder, I will soon be following her example.

Pretty soon I am sick of all these games being played in my home. Danielle, who has already joined Society, and my mother fighting to make Cinders appear as undesirable for Society as possible without making it obvious, and Cinders trying to figure out what is fashionable. I have no part in these games. I do not particularly care whether or not Cinder makes it into Society. My mother does seem to get into an improved mood when she's gotten the better of Cinders, though, so I really do root for my mother.

Cinders and my mother are once again arguing about how tightly her dress should be attached. My mother swears that the droopy look is very much used his year, but Cinder stands her ground. She has a figure and wants the dress to show that off however it can. I can no longer stand it. I slip out of the room before either Cinders or my mother can protest. I step outside, enjoying the clean air that does not smell like roses and lavender, or whatever new plant my mother has dragged inside and placed all over the house.

My feet are placed comfortably in my new slippers and I step over the small stones in the path as if they are non-existent. I approach Trent's home, and I knock on the side door, where I used to knock. Trent's cousin, Annabelle, answers the door, her face bright until she sees it's me.

"Oh! Viviann." Her face settles into a sort of bitter resentment. She was never good at hiding her feelings. "So you come along now? Now that he is long gone?"

"What are you speaking of? Who is gone?" Realization begins to creep upon me. "So soon?" These words tremble as they escape my lips and cannot do anything to impede them. How could he have left without so much as a by-your-leave? I might have said something appropriate so as to give us some closure.

"So soon, indeed! I sent Johnny to your house the moment the notice came! And now you mean to sound as if you didn't know. I always expected to see the girls broken-hearted, not **him**." With that said and none, she slams the door shut in my face.

I stand there for longer than is necessary, I think. I cannot get over the shock of it. Trent gone, as if overnight. One day I see him, and he lives next door, the next he is off to some distant city to become a gentleman. And my mother doesn't even feel the need to relay the message to me. As if she is to decide what is important enough to reach my ears.

I walk back to my house as if in a trance. Cinders and my mother are still arguing and I do not find it surprising that they didn't even notice my leaving. "Mother," I interrupt, not caring what he backlash of disrupting such a vicious quarrel will be, "did a message come for me, a couple days ago? From the young boy next door, the son of the-"

"The blacksmith boy? Oh yes, now that you mention it, in the most inopportune of times indeed, too! Don't you see I'm-"

"What was the message, may I ask, dear mother?" my voice is calm, much calmer than I ever might have gotten it to be by sheer will.

"Something about a treat. That a treat was leaving the next day. Whatever nonsense he was speaking about is surely over by now anyway, for that was last week. Anyhow, I had you scheduled to come with me for a visit to Lady Valora's house. I could not have spared you." She tells me this as if she is telling me . . .well, this is the manner in which she told me how babies are made, in which ways to keep my stomach flat, and how my father died, so perhaps this is a bad comparison.

I nod, almost before I notice I do. "Of course, mother." With that I leave my mother screeching for me to stop and to help her convince Cinders of something. I do not care what she is screaming at me, for I am walking out of that house, and soon I will be at the fountain, where I can do what I wish without the eyes of my mother judging my every move.

I ignore everyone around me, busy selling things, buying things, stealing things. I don't care much for what they are doing. I just want to sit at the water's edge and touch the fountain's surface with my finger, and wish that I could turn back time.

So for once I get my way. Of course time does not turn back, but I sit there instead, with the memories of him sitting next to me, talking to me, clear in my mind.

This is when Jacob approaches me. Or, more accurately, brushes past me roughly and I grab his arm before he can move on. "What do you want?" he spats. I cringe back at this vicious attitude. This is not the greeting I expected from an old friend.

"What's wrong? Why are you like this?" Tears want to fall, again. I manage to suck them in though, saving me the embarrassment.

"Why shouldn't I be like this? Are you saying I should be happy about what you've become?"

"Why does everyone assume I meant to?" I scream, getting close to him, amplifying the volume of my voice. Several people stop to stare, but at this moment I could care less. "Is it not realistic that my mother didn't announce to me his departure? Is that really something so unbelievable! You know my mother!" The tears come unwanted down my cold cheeks, and I brush them away before they can freeze.

Jacob doesn't answer me for a moment or two. At last he mutters, "I never thought of it that way. It's just . . . you had to see him. You could see his spirit breaking. He hoped until the very last that you would come."

"I didn't meant to," I whisper, looking down at the frozen ground. Before I can say more Jacob's arm is around my shoulders, leading me back towards my home. I cannot find the will or strength to fight his firm grip and I just lean on him, the tears still falling.


	3. and sometimes princesses are evil

**Thank you for the review, **

My entrance into Society is approaching with astonish speed. And all these hindrances are beginning to anger me greatly. Soon I will not need this family, not if I succeed in getting accepted. But then again, I need some help from a star for this. Maybe I couple of well-placed threats will do someone some good.

One of my sisters is a threat, more than the other. One likes the thought of being an obstacle for me, but this will only happen in her petty little thoughts. She is too weak in mind and will to fight against one as powerful as I.

But the other . . . she has the Mother strength. She does not know it yet, but when she utters words of prayer, the Mother listens. Mother is the only other that can fight with my power. My father didn't know my power was so strong. If he had, he would not have abandoned me with this mere mortal.

It still gives me laughs how this woman thinks she controls me. Herpathetic attempts to weaken me don't faze me in the least. I can make blankets and food appear at will. It does not hurt me.

"Do not try to stop me, Danielle," I whisper into her ear. "I'll take away all you hold dear." I don't think she hears me. Her ears are not sensitive to Other words like her sibling is. She awakes undisturbed.

Belinda, though, I will not hide from. I approach her. She does not believe it. She does not think I will. Then again, she cannot see what I think about every night. I think about skinning her alive and-

Good thing she doesn't know, then, I think gleefully.

The other one. I smell **Her** on her skin as soon I draw near her. It makes the skin on the back of my neck stand up. I warn her not to try to stop me. She stares at me blankly. I have noticed it lately, the lack of attention she is showing the world. I don't know what has happened, nor do I care. But she might, unconsciously, draw some power against me.

"It'll hurt." That is all I say to the girl. I do not like being near her, not anymore. I used to think she was a friend. Once upon a time. Before I began to hate the Mother. Before Father and Mother died and left me.

It will hurt. I think of it all night.

It will hurt.

I smile.


	4. cynical soldiers are hot

Okay, a small explanation for the pagan religion that Viviann most of the others believe in at the end. Some is very similar to Celtic things, but not this, I don't think. If you really aren't interested then just read the following for a short explanation:

The Mother is the mother of everything, humans and gods alike. Hence the title of the Mother. Witches (like Cinders) are either woman who work with magick or are daughters of Magic (a goddess) that she gives away. But people with the power of the Mother have a different sort of power, one that connects them to Mother and in turn to everything else.

If there are any more questions, don't hesitate to ask. Now onward to chapter four! yay! Song is from the he play Wicked, yeah, that broadway play. It might pop up later. i don't own it, obviously.

* * *

It is no surprise to anyone, except for maybe Cinders. I suppose she assumed she had the skills to make it. She didn't. Mother knew it, Danielle knew it, and even Lady Silva knows it, the moment Cinders walks in. 

You must give her points for effort. Her dress is not what anyone would all fashionable. I was tempted to actually help her at one point. You cannot help but pity her sometimes. I wonder if the Mother placed the world against poor Cinders on purpose.Well, that is, you cannot help but pity her _before_ she threatens that it 'will hurt.'

Her dress is a blue that really brings out her eyes. The fabric she wrongly made of wool of course makes the warm day unbearable for her. I could have told her the weather would be hot today, even as far away as a week ago.

But no one likes threats, and I'm no different.

Maybe I will feel this later. But I don't care. What can hurt worse than your best friend thinking you hate him? But then again, I am naïve. What do **I **know about pain?

Lady Silva tries to give her a chance. She really does, you can see it in her eyes and her manner.

"So, Cindy, you are here to join the Second Organization of Cork's Infallible Equestrian Team of Yeomanry." I stare blankly at Lady Silva until Danielle subtly jams her elbow into my side. I manage to swallow a yelp, and Danielle leans over to whisper irately, "You're joining in a year and you haven't even taken the time to figure out what it stands for?"

Meanwhile, Cindy nods elegantly, answering routinely, "Indeed, I am. I am true to Society's goals and plans. I am of Cork, trustworthy, with the ability to ride like our ancestors, the yeomen." I myself have not learned this speech, but by the way Lady Sylvia is staring at Cindy gravely, she has said something wide of the mark.

I would have asked my sister what yeomen meant if she had not moved, along with my mother, to their due places at the table. So they leave me standing there, lost, as they should have assumed I would be. There are no extra seats at the table, since they know who is to arrive, and are prepared.

"Fine," I mutter under my breath as I slip out of the door, their murmuring voices following me out. I wonder why my mother thinks this procedure is so important. The doors shuts with a sharp thud after me. A light breeze blows the hair from my sticky face, and I close my eyes, glad to have an escape from the dreadful heat.

I might have stayed in the shade of the Society building, but I was baited out by the soft voice of Marin. She is strolling in the garden in front of the Society building, picking flowers. I am unsure as to whether or not that is even allowed. "Ann! Sing me a song again!" The young girl with the tilting green eyes pulls at my skirt. I sigh, but Marin is too young to catch the subtle hint in that sound. So I force a smile, and think to myself how this will take my mind off Cinders for a little while, anyway.

"Alright, then, Marin. What song would you like me to sing?" I almost regret asking her. I know what her choice will be and I quickly steer her towards the castle gardens. Hardly anyone goes in there. No one will be there hear my voice sing of embarrassing topics.

"Sing the sweet song from the play." I had, in a moment of decency, taken Marin to see a traveling play. I was to pay for this for a long time to come. She had gotten me to learn to words to most of songs. At her whims I can now sing her any song she chooses. Her favorite was the '_sweet'_ song from the play. Sweet, that is, if you don't understand the play at her, which Marin hadn't.

Which didn't impede her from loving the song to pieces. I roll my eyes and softly begin to mutter the words through gritted teeth, hoping that for once Marin with accept this as a song. "_Kiss me too fiercely, hold me too-_"

But she's already shaking her head fanatically, her short ebony hair shaking like a wolf's fur might as it shakes off water. "No! Ann, you know that's not _how_! _Kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight!_" she screams this quite loudly for a girl her size. I glance around me, making sure there is no one in sight. There isn't. I sigh in relief and shrug my shoulders. It's no as if anyone is there to judge me.

"Okay, then, Marin. _Hold me too tight. I need help believing you're with me tonight. I'm lying beside you, with you wanting me. And just for this moment, as long as you're mine I've lost all resistance and crossed some borderline. And if it turns out its over too fast, Ill make every last moment last, as long you're mine._" I try imagining feel like this. I had always assumed that people made up this feeling to make stories of more interest. But since then I had felt that twinge. That twinge of . . ._something_. Whatever it was, it had caused me to almost faint with . . ._pleasure_? (wince) when Trent took me in his arms.

"_Maybe I'm brainless. Maybe I'm wise. But you've got me seeing through different eyes. Somehow I've fallen under your spell. And somehow I'm feeling its up that I fell. Every moment as long as you're mine, I'll wake up my body and make up for lost time! Say there's no future for us as a pair. I may know, I don't care_." I pause here, waiting to see if Marin notices. Usually she doesn't. She is always lost in her own thoughts when I sing these songs. It's true; even I tend to go deep into my own head when I sing the songs. They are songs that have always made think, though why I don't know.

When I see that Marin has completely blocked me out, I don't continue the song. I always get embarrassed when Marin makes me croon like this. I mean, what if someone sees me singing a song like . . . that to a child?  
"Marin, dear, where is your mother?" This is a useless question, seeing as how Mme. Cure never tells her young daughter where's she going, and assumes that Marin's older sister Lisset will actually take care of her. Lisset is worse than her mother. A swarm of men envelop her as soon as her mother's out of sight like flies might encircle a carcass. 

She doesn't even honor me with a glance. "Who are those men?" she asks, pointing her small finger towards a shadowy doorway nearby the palace. My eyes widen. Since when had the palace needed guards? The townsfolk were peaceful, and the war hadn't come to-

Had it? I think back, wondering if I'd missed something. I probably had. My mother's first priority was never wars or other manly issues.

Tuzalor had been a wonderful to grow up, since unlike most kings, our own had decided not to fight against the Rerecroses from the south. I had never seen one of these people for my own, but the stories that reached my ears were horrific. They told of creatures with far too many heads, teeth too long, claws too sharp, and eyes the color of Prince Sky.

Trent had told Jason, Jacob and me when we were little about the evil Rerecroses that would sneak into your house if you did anything _dirty_ and would rip out your eyeballs, and feed you them while ripping out your heart.

_That _scared me off boys for a while. Truth be told, I wasn't so sure of boys _now_, even when I knew the tales were not true.

All around us, _real_ people were dying to keep them away. No one seemed to know why the Rerecroses wanted in, but they fought them back all the same. But if the war had come to Tuzalor at last, the near center of all Cork. . . were we that far gone?

"_Ann_. . ." Marin's whining voice brings me out of my thoughts. "Who are they?" I pause a second, then I respond. "They're angels, Marin. Here to protect us from the evils that we all contain inside us." I don't know what had made spout such fanciful nonsense, but by Marin's relieved expression, it was the right thing to say.

Until Marin ran off, headed straight for the two men.

"No! Marin! Come back, they're not to be talked to!" Marin is fast for her age, and I am not used to running in the clothing I'm in. These shoes are too tall to run in, but I manage to kick them off while I run. I can't let her ask them any inappropriate questions. As many stories as there are of the Rerecroses, there are twice as many of the soldiers that 'protect' us.

They aresaid to be volatile, eager for battle and bloodshed, even when none is needed. They slice open first, ask questions later. They are notorious for their lack of distinction about what they eat. The thought of Marin being among those men makes me shiver with dread.

But arrive there too late.

"Angels, you say?" the larger man is replying, his voice full of gaiety. This man's skin a dark, foreign tinge. His hair is cut so short that it looks like he has none. His eyes are a light brown, and they radiate much amusement. "Who told you that?" Before Marin can point me out, I pull her to me, and I smile fearfully. "Marin is just a silly little thing. Please take no offense!"

"Don't worry, love. We're not planning on skinning your little sister any time soon." The second man says this. He's smaller than the first; his hair is long and dark. His black locks fall over his eyes, which seem dark enough without the shadows. He doesn't seem comfortable in the soldier attire he's dressed in, and he keeps fidgeting.

He seems to be joking, but is he? I don't answer, but instead I keep moving backwards, slowly, so as to not show more fear that I already have.

Wind whistles past us, and I hear its voice muttering strange phrases. _This is the beginning_, it whispers. A beginning of what? Wind usually isn't so mysterious. "Look, missus, Daemon really didn't mean it like that. He's a joker by nature. Sort of as a reaction against all he's gone through-"

"I'd appreciate it if you don't go blabbing out my entire history to the first stranger that approaches us," Daemon states coldly to the large man.

"I'm just trying to be polite, which is more than I can say you're trying to do." The large man snaps back..

"Well, how do you know I'm joking? Eh? I could secretly be a cannibal. I could be waiting for the right moment to take out my knife," which he quickly does with a efficiency that demonstrates he's done it many times before, "and slit all your throats. I'm mighty hungry, see as how I didn't have much of a breakfast this morning." He grins, but it's not a friendly grin. His teeth look sharp and eager for blood. Or maybe it's my overactive imagination.

"Daemon!" The larger man is glaring at Daemon with a strange intensity. As if he's mad at him, but he's so used to be being mad at him he's almost amused.

"I-it's okay. We'll leave." I'm pulling Marin away even faster. I don't care about fear anymore. These two men are strange and they're _soldiers_. There is no worse combination.

"Are you really here to protect us?" Marin interjects. All three of us freeze.

"We'll most likely than not die trying," Daemon replies dryly.

* * *

**Upper Gods (**there are Lower Gods spiritlings

_Mother_: mother of all, strongest of all, and most illusive. Her power connects all things, and she is in everything. Those that have her power strongly in thier veins have power that comes from the earth, and everything that walks on it. They can usually hear the cryptic messages of Wind spiritlings, and have little difficulty with reading minds.

_Frost_:Mother's lover, but not the father of all. The yin to her yang. Quick to anger, but sympathetic as well.

_Magic_: lover of Frost. She is most sexually driven of the Gods, and occasionally goes down into Lenaog to find herself a lover. A child of Magic is always, without exception, a great sorceress, for she always has female offspring. Magic, though, covering her tracks, sends her offspring to another woman who worships her is asking for child.

_Prince Sun_: illegitimate son of Frost and Mother, owning most of the world. Half brother of Princess Moon. He dislikes titles, and when he's on earth goes by the simple name Fiachna.

_Princess Moon_: daughter of Frost and Magic. Magic, angry at Frost for leaving her for Mother after a little while, made it so that her own daughter would never share anything with Prince Sun. She is also known as the Faerie Queen. When she's on earth, she goes by many names, and in as many forms. To amuse herself, she travels as a small fairy, wings as thing and fragile as a rose's petals, and nails as sharp as a wolf's incisor. As well as Queen Faerie and Queen Mab, she's known as Vampyre, Colbail. She and her brother are rarely seen in the sky together, except of a few occasions when they meet secretly to exchange gossip.


	5. do not touch evil people, they're evil

**Yay, a chapter that's of the next! blink dont ask.**

**thank you for the reviews!**

* * *

"She's not my sister, you know." I mutter lowly, lowering my gaze in spite of my daring. Yes, in my thoughts, speaking at all to these vagrants is daring.

Daemon raises an eyebrow. "Well, then, does that mean I can slice her open after all?" This is the last straw. I refuse to let Marin hear such crude language. Especially when it involves slicing her open, as if she were a beast to be slaughtered for a feast.

"I am not frightened of you, for the ghosts of those you have murdered are not trophies to be shown off, but things of shame that help me pity you. This girl is naught but a child, and I will not allow such verbal abuse in my presence." And I stalk off, dragging Marin tightly by the arm, just in case she takes a liking to that _wretched_ man.

"I've never killed anyone as of yet, so your informant is somewhat mistaken!" cries Daemon after us. I don't look back.

"Viv_aaaaanne_," Marin cries heatedly. "I wanted to stay with the big man! He looks like Father." Tears are running down her face, making pale paths amid the dirt smudged all over her face.

"Harold isn't your _father_. You're father is **dead**. Just like mine." I say this nastily, and the comment is intended to sting. I take it from the way Marin suddenly stops, that her mother never told her. I should never have opened my gob and said such an insensitive thing.

"Look, I'm kidding, Marin." I immediately try to cover up the sudden truth. "Of _course_ Harold is-"

"How did he die, Vivanne?" Her eyes are looking up at mine. Strangely, they're drier than they were before. Marin is strange girl, always has been. Maybe in the struggle of growing up as a girl when she deserves to be treated like a boy, she has grown up too quickly in some aspects.

"Harold isn't dead." I reply firmly. Marin and I silently stare at each other, with each of us knowing my lie. _Please, Mother Of All, help me take it back. Make her forget._ But Mother ignores my prayers. After a lengthily silence, Marin nods slightly, turns, and leaves me standing there, feeling like a complete fool. I did more damage than those two men could have ever done.

So I eventually turn to head back to the Society building. When I reach the entrance, my mother and Danielle are standing on the steps. While they try to act infuriated by my departure, they are simply glowing.

"I take it Cinders did not make it."

"Was there ever a doubt in your mind?" Mother replies brightly as she links our arms to hers as we walk to our carriage. Danielle and my mother are practically skipping their way to the carriage.

Yes, there had been a doubt in my mind. In fact, in my near hatred of my mother, it had almost become a hope.

* * *

Cinders is shivering in her bed, and I approach carefully. Cinders never takes pleasure in receiving aid for anything, and I stopped along ago attempting to help her with her tasks. But she hasn't even gotten up this morning. The Goddess been blocked out of the room with curtains drawn tightly. Cinders is rarely up later than noon, unlike my dear mother.

"Cindy? Are you alright, sister?" She glances at me for a moment, but her eyes seem to be looking past me. "He's hurting me, V- Mommy. Won't you stop it?" She reaches out with a trembling hand but-

I push away from the bed, as her hand is made of an intense fire. I don't want it _near_ me. The thought of her touch brings a sick taste to my throat. "I'll get Mother," I manage to gasp as a retreat so rapidly from her that I almost trip over my own feet.

Who is this _he_? I'm beginning to reconsider getting Mother. She might, or might not, get a doctor, but either way, witches will be the prime suspects in this crime. But there haven't been burnings in several generations. I don't want it to start now, because of a silly fever.

"Mother?" I whisper as I push open the heavy door, which acts as an entrance into my mother's room.

It's dark in the room, and I see that the fire isn't lit yet. I glance at the dormant form of my mother—she's gotten rather large lately—to see if she's awake yet. It's better if she thinks that Cinders lit the fire. I tiptoe towards the fireplace. "Cinders?" I freeze; glad I thought to partially close the door.

My mother doesn't wait for a response. "Forget the fire today. If I feel I really need it, I'll do it myself."

This is so unlike my mother I pause, staring at her incredulously. She can't completely tell my expression, obviously, but from my stance she seems to get all the information she needs. "I don't keep you here to judge my decisions, _Cinders_. Go. Do the rest of your chores and don't linger." This shocks me into action. My mother never speaks like this, even to her least favorite daughter. Me.

I back out of the room rapidly, breathing deeply. Was Cinders's life really this tough? My mind lingers on these thoughts as a return to Cinders's room. I peak through the doorway to see in what condition she's in. She lies as if lifeless, her skin pale and dark skins beneath her eyes. The dilemma is, is this a result of her illness or of my mother's cruelty?

This is turning into a strange day, I think to myself as I walk down the stairs. Though, I suppose I will get myself a bit of normalcy when go meeting with Jacob and Jason later in the day, so I have that much to look forward to. There is something in the back of my mind that is aggravating me. I know something is wrong in my household. Something _new_.

I can almost smell it. The sensation is tickling my nose and the tips of my fingers. It sparks and hisses in the back of my head like some sort of background sound. Is Cinders meddling with things she really shouldn't? It wouldn't surprise me. I would meddle with anything at all to escape the hell my mother is creating for Cinders.

But magic is a dangerous thing to mess with. Magic temples are all but extinct, and those that _do_ exist are hidden well. Magic is one goddess whose kingdom is limited. And in times where belief in the Mother is dwindling, the people that even _believe _in Magic are almost as extinct as the goddess's temples.

The day passes like this. As I clean the stables, the stench seems to be blown away by the light breeze and I breathe a bit easier. That is until dinner is to be served and I go into the kitchen to supervise the cook. Ever since the last cook tried to 'poison' my mother, she is absolutely paranoid about her food. She's even got a food taster.

Well, the reek of magic- for I know this is what it is now- makes me step back from the kitchen. I cover my nose, and look up at the kitchen for is causing disturbance. Cinders is sitting a small stool, her elbows on the counter, watching the cook mix something in a large bowl. She looks well enough, compared to how she looked the morning before.

However, when she turns her head, the scent diminishes, and I can uncover my nose, so as to speak to her intelligently. "Cinders, what are you doing out of bed?" Her eyes have deep bags over them, and even flashing me a small smile seems more than she can achieve.

"Oh, well, you did me good turn. It seemed reasonable if I returned the favor." I'm about to shake my head when I see her eyes flash with an odd light, right before the stench hits me straight in the face, causing me to fall backwards.

Its then I know that my stepsister isn't meddling in magic. She's practically swimming in it.

She approaches me, her face concerned. How she can show such distress when she did it on purpose! I push her away in my rush to escape her. When my hand comes in contact with her, a large shock flows through my arms, numbing them. I cry out in surprise, but I manage to get to my feet without touching her again.

Without glancing back, I rush out of the house, shoving the doors open with my shoulders. I run as swiftly as I can from the memory of what she did back there. I run until my legs give out from under me, and are as useless as my numb arms.

Unfortunately, pretty soon my arms aren't numb anymore. They're throbbing with pain. I crawl to a wall, whimpering at every movement I make. I could not make a coherent thought if my life depended on it.

I don't hear the footsteps approaching, nor do I hear the short argument. I barely feel the arms picking me up. What I do feel is the pressure on my arms, and the feeling of sharp knives cutting up my arms.

The noises that began small begin growing in volume as the pain increases. What is _happening_? I've touched Cinders before. What is going on? The pain is excruciating, and even after trying to silence myself by biting my lip, I begin to scream.

It leaves as quickly as it came upon me. Wiping the tears I hadn't felt from my eyes, I look around to find myself in a small room, where swords line the walls, and books litter the desk in the corner. "Finally," a familiar voice behind me mutters.

I turn, and I see the two guards from today, the speaker sitting in a chair, looking uninterested and impatient. The other man, mostly hidden in the shadows, stands next to his companion, and seemingly ignores him. "Are you well, lady?" No one has ever called me lady before.

I nod my head gently, expecting the pain to return any minute. I want to be out of here before then. I didn't know these men, and my mother had taught me enough for me to know that being the dark with two strange men would be a dangerous thing for a girl.

"Okay, now that we've got that topic covered, I was thinking that maybe we deserve a reward of some kind-"

My head and the head of the dark man both turn towards Daemon. "-like a chaste kiss, perhaps? Mother of All, did you both think I would ask her to suck me or something?" He takes our silence for ashamed yielding. "May a far dorocha take you both!" He storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.


End file.
